Friday, July 11, 2008

A Three-Donut Vacation: XXVII. Condition Tom is Overwhelmed

Yeastmen at the Regional Teleport Hub. Note Their Deadly Hot Donuts Now Guns

Written 10-11 July, 2008

A Three-Donut Vacation

XXVII: Condition Tom Is Overwhel

The teleport hub was in chaos. Claxons were sounding and role-playing Star Trek storm troopers were everywhere. Teleport Tom was on every monitor.

“Your attention, please!” boomed a hundred loudspeakers. “The office of Teleport Tom has declared a state of national emergency. We are in Condition Tom is Overwhelmed. Repeat: Condition Tom is Overwhelmed. Travelers carrying nail files, clippers, bottle openers, or other known Weapons of Virtual Terror are advised to surrender to the nearest TSA agent, who will shoot you on the spot.”

“OMG! I asked. “Is this because of what we did?”

“What do you think?” said Sweetie brightly. “Say, do you notice anything peculiar about those storm troopers?”

“Uh-uh,” I said, “except they’re carrying hot donuts now guns. And what’s up with that insignia?”

“Those aren’t storm troopers at all,” said Sweetie. “Those are Krispy Kreme Yeastmen.”

“I read about them!” I said. “In Second Life Herald. Their motto is ‘We Rise to the Occasion.’”

“They do the Korporation’s dirty work,” Sweetie said. “They’ll be searching for anyone matching our description.”

“Be on the lookout for this pair of exquisitely dressed, elegantly coiffed, sublimely shod, cleverly textured fifth columnists,” I said. “wanted for breaking and entering, wanton decapitation, donut room desecration, and oh, yes, deployment of improvised explosive devices.”

“Ha ha,” said Sweetie. “This is no time for jokes.”

“I’m not joking, I said. “I’m reading the flyer that nice yeastman just handed me.”

Sweetie snatched the flyer from my hand and looked at it. “Thank goodness the lenses of the cameras in the donut room were smeary with dried sugar,” she said, “or they would have nabbed us as we came through the doors. We’ll never make it through pre-flight screening. I don’t think we’ll even make it TO pre-flight screening.”

“Probably not,” I said, “unless…”

And that’s how Sweetie came to be wearing a bomb avatar. I put her on one of those rolling carts and raced down the terminal, shouting “TSA Bomb Unit! Out of the way! Live munitions!” and flashing my platinum fashionista lapel pin. TSA agents and yeastmen helped clear the way.

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